by Jeff Siebold
“It only lasts a second, so you have to watch carefully,” he said. “It’s like magic.”
“After this, let’s go back to the cottage and make our own magic,” said Tracy, dreamily. “Our own green flash.”
“I’ll try to feel your inclinations,” Zeke repeated.
“Like in judo...” she said.
“Well, I have pretty good instincts.”
“Yes, you do,” she agreed, and looked at him for a moment through raised sunglasses.
“There’s the flash,” he said, pointing. He looked at Tracy. “You missed it.”
“I haven’t missed anything yet,” she said, and she smiled.
* * *
“The worst part is always when you leave to fly home,” said Zeke.
Tracy Johnson smiled at him. They were in the Tampa airport approaching the TSA security area. Tracy was booked on a late morning Delta flight to Atlanta.
“I know,” she said. She stopped, set her carry-on on the floor next to her and leaned over and gave Zeke a kiss. Then she gave him another one, more serious. He felt her tongue lightly touching his lips, sharing her feelings silently.
“Wow,” he said. “Nice. You’ll need to come back soon, you know,” he said.
“OK,” said Tracy. “I will.”
Zeke’s phone chose that moment to vibrate in his pocket, and he ignored it.
“And I’ll come see you in Atlanta,” said Zeke. “Soon.”
“I’m counting on it,” she said, dreamily. She grabbed the handle of her roller bag and walked to the TSA checkpoint.
* * *
“Zeke, aww man, they’re dead. My niece Susie and that boy Will Burns are dead.” Oscar was breathing heavily over the phone. Zeke heard several muted voices talking in the background.
“What? How...?” asked Zeke.
“We got a call from the local cops, the Lower Merion Township PD. They found the bodies this morning, in a dumpster behind Suburban Square.” Oscar sobbed twice, and then caught his breath. “They’d been there a few hours...someone took out the garbage and saw all the flies and called 911.”
Bluebottle flies, thought Zeke, to himself. “Is there a cause of death?”
“They won’t tell us nothing, Zeke,” said Oscar. “Just that they were murdered.”
Chapter 14
“We need your help, Zeke,” Oscar said again. “This is too big for the local cops. This is Ardmore, for crying out loud. Our police force is great for handing out parking tickets and directing traffic when church lets out Sunday morning, but...this is a whole different level.”
“When’s the last time there was a murder in Ardmore?” asked Zeke.
“I don’t know, maybe 2005, 2006?” Oscar replied. “I wasn’t here then. I’d been deployed, but I heard about it.”
“They may have to bring in the State Police for a double homicide,” said Zeke, thinking out loud.
“Right, but we want to hire you, Zeke. You already know some of the players, and we’re convinced- the family, that is- that this isn’t some random crime. There’s got to be more to it.”
“You want to hire The Agency?” asked Zeke, referring to Clive Greene’s organization of ex-FBI and counterintelligence investigators. Zeke worked occasionally for The Agency as a contract employee, generally called in by Clive to assist with more difficult assignments.
“Yeah, we want you to run a parallel investigation, to talk to the people who were close to the kids and see if you can break something free. The cops are leaning toward “random” like a robbery or a sex crime or a drug deal or something.”
“Was there any sign of molestation? Drugs?” asked Zeke.
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” said Oscar. “Ah, man. They won’t tell us anything. Zeke, set this up for me, OK?”
Zeke felt the agony in his voice.
“Sure, Oscar. I’ll do that and head back up your way.”
Zeke heard a female voice sobbing in the background and saying something garbled just before Oscar hung up the phone.
* * *
“4273,” said Sally. Zeke was calling his primary contact at The Agency from an unsecured cell phone, and the appropriate protocol was in place. Sally had reversed the last two digits of the number he’d dialed. If anyone called the number by accident, they would be led to believe they’d dialed wrong. A second call to this number would go unanswered.
Zeke’s part of the protocol was to acknowledge Sally with a name code confirming his identity. It was Monday, so he said, “Hello, Maude.” It was a simple word substitution code.
“Hello to you, stranger,” said Sally. “Heard you’ve been hanging out with the preppies.”
“Close,” said Zeke. “Can you get me some time with Eric?” ‘Eric’ was their code name for Clive Greene.
“Sure can,” she said. “He’ll call you on the other number at five.” Zeke translated to himself, He’ll call you on his secure line in fifteen minutes.
“That’ll work. Thanks, Maude. My little project in Ardmore turned deadly.”
“Do tell,” said Sally. “I read something about that.”
“Can you arrange my transport to the city of brotherly love tomorrow?”
“I can. Check your e-mail,” said Sally.
“Do you have anything else for me up there?” Zeke asked.
“Possibly,” Sally said, now using her wispy voice. “Just possibly.”
* * *
Back on his cottage porch, Zeke set his secure smartphone on the small table beside him and sat back in the rattan chair. That’s a major escalation, he thought, from running away with your boyfriend, to a double homicide.
While waiting, Zeke thought back over some of the people he’d met in Philadelphia. George and Oscar. Carol Lopper. The McCarthys. Ruth Manicotti. Catrin Davies. Will Burns. And Trina and Amy. It was quite an eclectic group, actually.
Then he thought about the people he hadn’t met. Beth McCarthy’s husband. Gina Samone. Will Burns’ father. Seth Gordon. Seth’s divorcing parents. Anne, Seth’s other sister. And now a double homicide. There were still a lot of questions to be answered, a lot of ground to cover.
What about motive? Zeke wondered.
Then the phone started ringing. Right on time.
“Clive, hello,” said Zeke.
“Sally said you’re mixed up with a ‘Murder in Bryn Mawr?’” asked Clive with a small smile in his voice. “That’s not in South Wales, is it?”
“Translates from the Welsh as ‘Large Hill’ if I recall correctly,” said Zeke, tongue in cheek. “This one’s closer to Philly, Clive.”
“Yes, well, what’s the play?”
“An old friend, a Special Forces type, asked me to help find his fourteen-year-old niece. She’d disappeared, been gone for a few days, so I visited him and ran her location down last week,” said Zeke.
“Right,” said Clive.
“I thought it was all good, but today she turned up dead,” said Zeke.
Clive was silent, listening.
“Apparently she and her boyfriend were killed and stuffed in a dumpster. Details are sketchy, but the uncle wants to hire us to find out who and why.”
“Indeed. Hence tomorrow’s reservations to Philadelphia?”
“Exactly. I’m heading back there tomorrow.”
“Do you want me to meet you there? I can drive there in a couple hours. Well, three with DC-Baltimore traffic,” said Clive.
“Yes, check my arrival time with Sally and meet me at the airport. And bring Kimmy, if you can. I’d like you both to meet the family.”
* * *
Zeke breezed through the airport concourse, grabbed his checked bag and headed directly for “Transportation.” Outside, at the curb, a gray Aston Martin Rapide S was parked in a no stopping zone, and the nearby police officer was taking great pains to ignore it.
Zeke dropped his luggage in the open trunk and hopped in the front seat. Clive was behind the wheel of the right-hand drive car, and Kimmy was
occupying a portion of the back seat. She was reviewing something on her iPad.
“Hey, Zeke,” she said as he got into the car. “Long time...”
Kimmy, who’s real name was Tzofiya, pronounced like ‘Sophia”, was energy in motion, a small dark haired girl who couldn’t sit still. The constant movement made her seem younger than she was, and somehow it added to her attractiveness. Today, she was wearing a loose yellow blouse and an ankle-length skirt that looked as if it had been designed in Bangladesh. Her jewelry, bracelets, earrings and necklace were sterling silver.
“Hi, Kimmy,” Zeke said. “Thanks for coming.”
Kimmy was an operative for The Agency, Clive Greene’s company. The Agency was routinely employed by US government agencies for sensitive and difficult operations for which the government required some level of deniability. Kimmy was a former Mossad agent and had recently joined Clive’s elite team. She and Zeke had worked together in Atlanta.
“Let’s stop on the way out to Ardmore,” said Clive, once they had cleared the airport traffic. “There’s a public house in downtown Philly I’d like to investigate.”
“Of course there is,” said Zeke with a smile.
Chapter 15
The Dandelion Pub was serving lunch when Clive parked the Aston Martin on 18th Street across from its front door. The English pub occupied a corner location with indoor and outdoor seating. Inside, a tall hostess with auburn hair and a cockney accent greeted them.
“Genuine East End,” said Clive under his breath after she had seated them and returned to her station. “Within earshot of the bells of St. Mary-le-bow.”
Kimmy gave Clive a questioning look, but he was already reading his menu and didn’t see it.
The restaurant had wide, dark plank floors, reminiscent of barn wood, with wallpaper and hardwood paneling on the walls throughout the seating area. The bar was made of dark walnut and polished to a high gleam. Three white light globes over the bar were spaced apart equally and inscribed with “Man’s,” then “Best,” then on the third, “Friend.”
“And you, ma’am?” asked the waitress in a British accent, taking their orders.
Noticing that Kimmy needed more time to decide, Zeke ordered a warm roast beef sandwich on sourdough bread.
“I’d like the Tandoori Chicken,” said Kimmy.
“With a little bit of heat,” said Zeke from across the table.
“I hope so,” said Kimmy.
“I’ll have the salmon and trout paté,” Clive said, “and an order of the crab balls.”
“And tea, please,” said Kimmy. “With lemon.”
“Now, tell us a bit more about this assignment, old man,” said Clive, when the server had left.
“Well, it started out as a missing kid, a niece of Oscar Larosa. I know him from MIC,” said Zeke.
MIC was short for the Military Intelligence Civilian Excepted Career Program, or MICECP, the program Zeke had worked in prior to joining Clive at The Agency.
“I do remember hearing something about him,” said Clive. “He lost his legs along the way, I believe.”
“Same guy,” said Zeke. “He called me because he initially thought the niece had been kidnapped and he needed an outsider’s perspective as well as my mobility.”
“OK. What happened?” asked Kimmy.
“It didn’t seem like much,” said Zeke. “I spent some time in Ardmore and interviewed the people closest to the girl, Susie. It turns out that she wasn’t kidnapped, she’d run away.”
“Was there a ransom request?” asked Clive.
“Yes, but there was no follow through. It was pretty loose, pretty sloppy. That tipped me off that the disappearance might not have been nefarious. It almost had to have been the kids.”
“So you rescued the girl...” Kimmy said, helping the conversation along.
“Well, I found out where she was staying and told Oscar. He arranged for Susie to be picked up and taken home.”
Kimmy stood up and walked around the table. She grabbed a set of silverware from the vacant adjoining table and set their menus on that table. Then she returned to join Zeke and Clive, moving her chair out as she sat down, crossing her legs and smoothing her skirt.
“And now she’s dead?” asked Clive.
“Yes, I suppose Sally gave you the known details, the news story. When I spoke with Oscar yesterday, he said they hadn’t heard much from the police because they didn’t have many details. But he did say ‘murder’ and he asked for our help,” said Zeke.
“Right,” said Clive, slipping on his handmade reading glasses from Savile Row Eyewear in London. Zeke thought they resembled those worn by Harry Potter. “We were able to access the police records, the so-called ‘murder book,’ after you called.” He said this as if doing so were a routine matter. In fact, such information would be difficult, if not impossible, for most anyone to obtain.
“Impressive,” said Zeke.
“Yes, well, here’s what we know.” Clive took a single sheet of paper from his interior suit jacket pocket. “Susie Lopper and her boyfriend, Will Burns, were both found in a trash dumpster near an upscale clothing store. The dumpster is in an enclosed area with an unlocked solid gate, and the bodies were laid on top of the existing garbage. Both bodies were on one side of the dumpster with the lid closed, and from the preliminary crime scene photos I saw, it looked pretty random, as if they had been tossed in, or lifted up and dropped in there.”
“No sign of any posing or respect for the dead?” asked Zeke.
“None evident,” said Clive. “Cause of death in both cases was from a small caliber bullet to the heart at fairly close range.”
“Hmm,” said Kimmy. “Probably facing them, looking them in the eyes.”
“Could be,” said Clive, looking up and then back to the paper. “Both victims were dressed in t-shirts and jeans. The girl’s were short-shorts and the boy’s were longer, knee length shorts. The police reported that there was very little blood on either victim, that it appeared the gunshots were immediately fatal.”
“How close was the gun?” asked Kimmy. “Any residue?” She meant ‘gunshot residue,’ the remains of gunpowder on the skin or clothing when the barrel of the weapon is close to the victim. Typically it was evident in shootings from less than five feet, depending on the gun.
“Too soon to know for sure, but none was evident by visual observation,” said Clive, referring to his notes.
“Pretty good shooting, to bullseye the hearts with two shots at five feet or more. Probably not an amateur,” thought Kimmy out loud.
The server returned with their food on a large tray and set it on the next table. While she was arranging the food, Clive put the paper back in his inside jacket pocket and put his glasses in his shirt pocket. He looked at the paté and crab balls, and set his napkin in his lap.
“I’ve got to taste your paté, Clive,” said Kimmy. He looked at her blankly as she cleared a spot, jumped up, and moved her plate close to his for a sample of his salmon and crab paté.
* * *
“So, what’s our plan, Zeke?” asked Kimmy. They had finished eating lunch, and their server had just topped off their drinks.
“This seems too strange to be random,” said Zeke. “I think there are too many inconsistencies, too many questions about it all. The police will most likely suspect someone in the immediate family first. And that could be it. But with the Lopper and Larosa family history, it seems as if there are a lot of other players that could be involved.”
“I agree,” said Clive. “This isn’t a typical family. Their social network extends from the streets to the military, and from there to MICECP and then the usual school contacts, family, neighbors and friends. But we can’t discount that this was caused by something from the past. Or from the shadows.”
“So, I suggest that we let the police run down their obvious leads, and we start looking in the corners, behind the cobwebs,” said Zeke. “Let’s uncover the motivation, first. We should start by in
terviewing the rest of the people involved.”
“I’ll join you to visit with our client, but I’ll need to be back in DC later on,” said Clive.
“No worries,” said Zeke. “After we meet with Oscar I’ll rent a car and we can get to work.”
Chapter 16
“You can park in the driveway,” said Zeke as they approached Oscar Larosa’s house. Clive eased the gray car up next to the house, and the three climbed the front stairs single file because of the handicapped ramp. The door opened as Kimmy reached the porch. Oscar rolled his wheelchair back to give them room to enter.
“Oscar, I’m so sorry about Susie,” Zeke said. “I came as soon as I could.”
Oscar, his eyes rimmed red from crying, looked at Zeke and said, “Aw, man, I’ve been through a lot, but this just breaks my heart.”
“I know,” said Zeke. “This is Kimmy,” he added, “and we talked about Clive.”
Kimmy nodded to Oscar, and Clive stepped forward and shook Oscar’s hand. “Bloody bad business,” he said.
“Come on in,” said Oscar. “George and Carol just left, maybe a half hour ago. They needed some rest.”
The four moved through Oscar’s home. The living area was in disarray, with throw pillows on the floor and cups and glasses arranged randomly on the end tables. It was obvious that a small group of people had recently occupied the space. They continued to the kitchen table, which was set up with fresh cups and saucers, cream and sugar.
“I had to do something to stay busy while I was waiting,” said Oscar, gesturing to the kitchen table. “Coffee’s brewing and, Clive, I’ve got water on for tea. Kimmy, which do you prefer?”
“Maybe tea,” said Kimmy, moving around the room, looking out the back window and finally choosing a chair at the table and squirming into it. “That sounds good.”
“It’ll be ready in a couple minutes. Just help yourself,” said Oscar.